


go gently (just for tonight)

by bokutoma



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Late at Night, pre-corypheus, soft, taking care of each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22566091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: there's only so much burden even a commander can bear before one must put it down; nemaya intends to ensure he does so
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	go gently (just for tonight)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [petitnuage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitnuage/gifts).



> this is a commission for marceline! love u <333

It's the end of the world, or nearly there, and Nemaya is adrift. Corypheus is coming, and she knows this with far more certainty than ever before. Since Haven, he'd been reduced to a looming figure, an evil to remain wary of but not to be paralyzed by, and even as he'd gradually grown closer, Nemaya had been able to push the thought of him away with the consolation that they had _time_ , scant though it may be.

The Inquisition had blocked him rather effectively in the Arbor Wilds. They no longer had the luxury of believing in time.

Here she is, on this final night, one that she cannot predict the ending of but one that she can feel in her bones nonetheless, and though everyone looks to her as a leader, she needs just a few hours to herself.

It's easy enough to sneak her way up to the door of Cullen's tower (and isn't there a human tale that goes something like this, a warrior riding up to their locked away love?) and easier still to push it open, especially when no one's guarding it. Dusk has long drawn its shutters closed, and the night air is bracingly cold against her face, small locks flying wildly in the open way of the mountain. Once, she had asked Cullen why he posted guards outside every high ranking member of the Inquisition's chambers but his own.

"They all deserve it more," he had said, self-assured in his decision yet as bashful as only he could be. " _You_ deserve it more."

For a moment, she had thought she had understood the appeal of Cassandra's romantic heroes.

She raps on his door lightly, not enough to startle but plenty to warn, and slides in, smooth as any shadow.

Cullen is still at his desk, though this is largely unsurprising, and he is working as hard as ever. Such is his way, of course, but there's no small amount of concern in the way she reaches out a hand even prior to being properly before him, no small amount of love in the way she smooths a drooping piece of hair back from his forehead.

"Inquisitor," he says, and though Nemaya hates that he won't just say her name, she softens at the weary care of his tone.

"Try again," she whispers as she draws closer still, close enough that within an eye's blink (blink of an eye might be the human expression, but it matters little in the privacy of her own mind), she's circumnavigated the desk and wrapped her arms around him.

"Nemaya." Yes, that's better. With the weight of titles stripped from them, Cullen's shoulders are already dropping, and even if that means he's given room for the exhaustion to come crawling back in, it matters little when he deserves the time to rest. "Have you come for a reason?"

"Rest, my ever-beating _vhenan_." There are words she wants to say, admissions she wants to admiringly press against the shell of his ear, but he wouldn't understand them. That's okay, though. They have time.

They _must_.

"There is much to do," he starts, but she's anticipated this in the way that she anticipates most of his folly, and has pressed a gentle kiss against his cheek. After all this time, this is all it takes to fluster him, and she loves him _so much_.

"And very little of it can be done while most sleep."

Perhaps he's learned better than to argue with her when it comes to his health; perhaps it's just a mark of how truly tired he is that he lets her pull him from his seat with little fuss. She stops just short of force to get him up the ladder to the drafty, dubious comfort of his room, unwilling to take her eyes off him for even a moment lest he be swayed by the ever-present call of work, and when she's waited as long as she can bear, she follows after him.

"Heavy is the head," he says, and it's supposed to be a joke, though it's hardly funny when Nemaya can read the truth of it in the lines of his face, in the pure and unadulterated tiredness that drags at her friends and advisors like stones.

"Heavy are your shoulders with all of this armor on." It's a poor joke, though he laughs. He is nervous without it, she knows, but she will never let him come to harm. Slowly, he's come to trust that as much as his own blade.

They work him out of it in quiet tandem, cool silence like the brisk wind outside, only rejuvenating. There's more than should be necessary for a human officer of such high rank, but Cullen has never been the sort to sit on the sidelines when he can help.

This is what she loves about him. This is why she fears for him.

Soon, he's as dressed down as he will ever be; they will wash in the morning, but for now, she tucks him into bed among the lines and sweat of him. It's their final night (she can't know for sure, but she feels it in her bones), and she will give him every quiet moment she can claw from the uncaring expanse of the night sky.

"Don't leave."

Even sleep-deprived and rough as it is, Cullen's voice is the song that sets Nemaya's heart to melt. Frankly, there are probably a dozen reasons why she shouldn't even consider staying, each more practical and reasonable than the last.

She will sleep so much better if she's beside him.

"Never," she promises, even though it's the final night she can make such promises. (She cannot know this; this certainty pulses in time with her hand.) Sliding into bed beside him feels like coming home always should.

Curling against him, head tucked against his chest, feels like forever could be promised, and she would accept without hesitation.

"Nemaya?" Cullen mutters against the fall of her hair.

"Hm?"

"I love you."

And what can she do but say it back?

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on twitter @kingblaiddyd


End file.
